


Arise, anoint him: for this is he

by Vee017



Series: Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted [2]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-19
Updated: 2009-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee017/pseuds/Vee017
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor’s side. Companion piece to “And all that’s best of dark and bright”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arise, anoint him: for this is he

_**FIC: Arise anoint him: for this is he (1/1)**_  
Title: Arise, anoint him: for this is he  
Author: Vee017 ([](http://aislinn-tredor.livejournal.com/profile)[ **aislinn_tredor**](http://aislinn-tredor.livejournal.com/) )  
Beta'd by: [](http://munibunny.livejournal.com/profile)[**munibunny**](http://munibunny.livejournal.com/)  
Genre: Cross-Over  
Setting: Post-BDS movie, pre-SPN S4 (4.01 spoilers)  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Connor/Murphy  
Summary: Connor’s side. Companion piece to [“And all that’s best of dark and bright”](http://vee017.livejournal.com/60645.html)  
Warnings: Blasphemy.  
Word Count: 3,389  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, I am merely playing in someone else’s sandbox for zero profit whatsoever. Title from 1 Samuel 16:12

The night was dark as Connor made his way down the sidewalk. The annoyed anger still burned inside him at Murphy’s careless sniping. He’d left in a huff, leaving his brother back at the bar to do whatever the fuck he wanted. Connor needed to be alone, just needed some fucking air. He said he was going back to the motel, but that was a lie.

If Murphy went back to their room and found him missing, it would serve him right it would.

Leaves crunched beneath his boots, and the cold wind started to pick up.

He didn’t know what Murphy’s problem was, or why he had to pick a fight. Of course, Connor knew he could have let it go, could have ignored the first comment, ignored his brother. But no, Connor had to push it, had to turn and react, which just escalated the whole thing.

 _Low blow, Murph. Really low fucking blow._

He didn’t even know where it had come from. Christ, all he’d been doing was talking to a wee gal. She was cute and sweet, a little distraction from suddenly being alone with Murph without Da around.

Da. Who was like the righteous fist of God, and Connor didn’t want to do anything around him that would make him suspicious. What would he do if he knew? What would he do if he caught Connor watching Murphy in a way he never should? Connor had tried to hide it. Moved more deeply into himself, hiding it.

But now Da was somewhere in Kansas, he didn’t have that lock anymore. Every feeling from before Yakavetta just came right back to him like it never left.

Fuck. He never could stay mad at his twin, no fucking matter what, annoyed yeah, but never fucking angry. There was no heat left in his belly now, just a resigned sense of shame.

The girl was cute, but fuck it all if she didn’t remind him of Murphy. Connor couldn’t even remember her name, just that her hair had been the same shade, and her eyes the same hue as his brother’s. She may have been quieter but while Murphy was loud at first glance, acted before thinking, the one that ran his mouth off, he could still be quiet. It was those softer moments between them that let Connor study him more. When Murphy was still. Not that Connor didn’t love his volume, his enthusiasm- he adored that about his twin. But it was the quiet moments, the little moments, that had Connor silently falling in love all over again.

When they had been younger, and the odd nightmare would come, Connor would always feel Murphy slipping into bed beside him. They didn’t have to talk, or say anything. Just being near each other helped them to sleep, just the presence of the other. They’d never had separate rooms. As children, or as men. The two of them always together.

But after tonight would that still be true?

The way Murphy had reacted, a look in his eye that was foreign to Connor…what if Murphy saw? Saw how much that girl resembled him, made the connections…

What if Murphy _knew?_

Connor pulled his jacket tighter against the wind and kept walking.

This could destroy them. Connor’s sickness. His shame. His sin.

He’d prayed everyday for God to release him from it. To take it away. Wished with everything he had that he hadn’t seen the way the sun reflected off Murphy’s skin that day. That he hadn’t seen the drops of pond water roll down his neck, hair soaked back against his head, eyes shining and grinning at Connor like everything in their world was perfect.

That was the day Connor’s heart stopped and started beating again in an unnatural, disgraceful rhythm.

But Murph…Murph was so beautiful. And he didn’t even realize it. Their whole lives seemed to be a constant teasing of how Connor was the pretty one, the lighter one, the favoured one. Murphy always did it good-naturedly, but Connor still couldn’t help but wonder if it ever got to his twin. That Ma rounded on him more than she did Connor, that Da looked to him first before Murphy during a job.

If he didn’t, then it was a testament to how much Murphy loved him, deferred to him, was willing to follow him.

It was an honour Connor didn’t deserve.

Murphy didn’t deserve a brother who lusted after him, wanted him in ways one should never want their family. Connor shouldn’t want to taste those lips, lick his mouth, touch and feel all that skin while he left his fingerprints bruised into those pale, narrow hips.

Connor let out a pained sound as he ran up the steps to the church, and opened one of the heavy doors. Panting like he had run a mile, Connor stepped up to the font, dipping his fingers into the water and crossing himself as he made his way into the sanctum.

The only light came from the candles lit at the front of the alter, a large ornate cross looming behind it. It was warm inside, a welcome feeling to the cold wind outside the doors. Connor sat down wearily in one of the pews and bent his head.

 _Our Father, who art in Heaven…_

Every prayer started the same, and every time God ignored him. Why wouldn’t He answer? He had come to them that night, gave them their holy mission, baptised them as His soldiers on Earth. So why? Why did He curse Connor with this sin? This temptation? Why was he being tested? If he could just figure it out then he might be able to stop it…if it would ever stop. If he wanted it to stop.

“You look troubled.”

Connor glanced up sharply, startled. He relaxed automatically when his gaze caught sight of the man and the Roman collar at his neck.

“You could say that, Father.”

The priest was younger than what Connor was used to. They were probably around the same age, give or take a year at most, but a priest was a priest, a conduit for God. Even though Connor had no thoughts of divulging what was truly going on in his mind. He could have confessed it, at anytime during the years, but what good would absolution do him? To be forgiven for a sin one had to atone and mean it. And Connor wasn’t sure he could.

“Whatever is weighing on your mind, the church is open to you, and God is listening.”

“Aye, I know, and I don’ want ta doubt but…”

“You think He has not heard you?”

Connor hung his head. Fuck, he’d give anything for a smoke right now.

“God always hears. But sometimes the answers He gives are not the ones you want, or they are not obvious,” said the Father. “Or it could be that you are asking the wrong question.”

“Tha Bible says tis wrong. How’s wantin’ it ta go away, and why tha fuck it’s happenin’ the wrong question?” said Connor, glancing up at the priest. “Pardon my language, Father.”

He nodded and held Connor’s gaze. “Do you put all your trust in God to lead you to your path? To give you what you seek when He deems it the right moment?”

Connor blinked.

Usually the priests offered empathetic counsel, different forms of advice while trying to understand. But there was no sympathy from this priest, his expression barely changed at all. It made Connor feel like a child, and that the answer to his questions was so simple and sitting right in front of him the whole time.

He’d never doubted God before. Didn’t dare to. Even after all these years, and all these feelings he had for his brother, all the questions he asked of God…there had to be a reason he was never answered, something that was being waited for.

“Aye. I do,” said Connor truthfully.

“The strength of your faith has always been commended.”

Connor’s brow furrowed and he watched the priest hesitate a moment, before clasping a hand on Connor’s shoulder.

And he saw it. _Clarity._

* * *

Connor didn’t remember the walk back to the motel, didn’t remember falling into bed fully clothed sans jacket. He thought he woke up once during the night but he couldn’t be sure. It had to have been Murphy coming in though, he thought he heard them exchange some sort of greeting.

But now Connor lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling as morning light crept in from the curtains.

He could hear the shower running in the small bathroom…did it run last night too? Murphy and his damn hot water. Connor would be lucky if there was any left for him, but…this morning he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

Sitting up, Connor swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his cigarette pack. The nicotine that filled his lungs calmed him down as he tried to put the previous night into perspective. He had talked to a priest, and then _that feeling_ had gripped him. He had only felt it once before, that night in the Boston Police Station when he and Murphy had received their mission. He had _felt_ it. Right there and then in that church once more, and he couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain at all what he was about to do. His heart was already starting to beat in his throat.

He didn’t hear the shower shut off, but he heard the bathroom door open as Murphy walked out. He was ringing a towel through his hair and steam poured out behind him. When he lowered the towel and saw Connor sitting there he stopped, frozen to the spot. It seemed to take Murphy a second to find his voice but once he did, it was quieter and more contrite than usual.

“M’sorry about last night Conn. I was an arse, all right?”

Connor shrugged and put out his cigarette. “S’okay, Murph.”

His twin looked like he was planning on saying something else, but decided to drop it. Murphy dropped his towel while he went in search of his jeans. Nudity between them was not something that had ever bothered the other. It was as natural as anything else. They had never had any privacy growing up in their small cramped room, or any of the dive apartments they shared, so if they never had something to begin with it wasn’t anything to miss, was it?

Connor used to try and not stare, to not let his gaze linger more than necessary on his brother’s body, but this time he didn’t bother.

Christ, how could things have changed so much since last night? What had happened to him? How did he get from misery to…peace.

 _Epiphany._

“Connor?”

He blinked and jumped when a hand waved in front of his face. Murphy, now in his jeans, kneeled down in front of him with a worried look on his face.

“Are ya all right? S’like yer not even there.”

“M’sorry. Murphy, m’sorry. Don’t hate fer this. Please don’ hate me.”

“Connor, what-“ He never finished his sentence because Connor leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Murphy’s lips were warm and soft, shower damp and perfect. Fuck, what was he doing, why wasn’t he in full panic? His brother’s lips were against his and God it felt beautiful, God he had to stop, had to stop, stop, stop. Murphy’s mouth was still.

Connor pulled away. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t look at him, couldn’t see the expression on his face, his slack lips were answer enough. Fuck. Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck was wrong with him? Why, _what_ made him do that? What made him so calm as to _do that_? To just…lean into his brother and… Apologies fell from Connor’s lips before he could stop them. Rambling, tumbling, pouring out, and he was sorry. So sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. _Murphy, I’m sorry, forgive me please, I love you, I love you, I love you._

He was cut off as Murphy shoved him hard against the bed and onto his back, Connor’s hands grabbed at his twin’s shoulders, ready for Murphy’s fist, fuck he deserved it, he bloody fucking well _deserved it_ … but he was denied when Murphy’s mouth sealed roughly over his instead.

* * *

Fuck it. That had been the only thought in his head after Connor’s mouth had left him, and he’d started talking. Fuck it. Fuck it all. _Jesus fuck._

He might never get another chance. Connor…Connor _kissed him_.

 _Kissed. Him._

His lips were right there. Warm against his, _they were there_ , Murphy had felt them, he didn’t fucking imagine that. What _the fuck? Connor?_

No apologies, he didn’t fucking want apologies, he wanted Connor wanting _this_ , wanting…he’d kissed him. God damn bloody _kissed him_! He didn’t fucking get to take that back.

“How long?” Murphy ripped his mouth from Connor’s long enough to ask.

“Ages. Ages, Murph. I’m sorry.”

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” His mouth descended again, and it was every damn thing he had ever wanted. His tongue swept out over the curves of Connor’s mouth, his perfect mouth. He tasted like a fucking ashtray, and his stubble burned Murphy’s skin but it was beautiful, so amazing.

He could feel himself getting hard, the rough friction of his jeans coaxed and teased as the worn cotton of Connor’s t-shirt had the same effect against his nipples, sending more sparks directly to his cock.

He groaned as Connor’s hand buried itself in his hair, running his fingers through the strands. Connor’s tongue against his, his lips moving in the same rhythm as Murphy’s before he broke away.

“Murphy, I’m sorry.”

Murphy growled. _Christ, Connor._

“Do you get it yet, ya daft fuck?” He gripped Connor’s chin pulled him into a hard, fast kiss. Pulling back, he held Connor’s face as he looked down at him, forcing their eyes to meet and willing him to _see_.

Murphy ran his thumb over Connor’s kiss swollen bottom lip.

“Was jealous last night,” he admitted.

“She looked like you,” said Connor breathlessly. “She looked just like you, Murph.”

 _Did she?_ He couldn’t fucking remember. But Christ, the way Connor was looking at him now.

He experimentally thrust his hips against Connor’s, and was rewarded by his brother’s sweet gasp, and the arching of his hips against Murphy’s.

“Fuck, Conn. So fuckin’ beautiful.” Murphy’s mouth trailed down the side of Connor’s throat, tongue licking over the tattoo he found there. The twin of the one on Murphy’s own neck. His hands pawed at the hem of Connor’s shirt before lifting it straight up, leaving it bunched underneath his armpits. He didn’t want to lose contact for even a second. The feeling of his bare chest coming into contact with Connor’s sent a warm thrill down his spine, and he bucked his hips harder against Connor’s, their cocks straining against denim, and grinding fiercely into one another. Connor wrapped a leg over Murphy’s and pulled them closer, even closer, they needed to be closer.

Fuck, fuck.

The world whited out. Murphy felt his orgasm through every part of his body, his dick twitching and pumping come, smearing into his jeans. Connor’s arms tightened around his shoulders, as he rode out his own. The fronts of their jeans grew hotter and wetter, as their come stained through.

Murphy rolled himself off of Connor and onto his back beside him, breathing harshly. Where the fuck had that come from? Not that he was complaining, but Connor reflecting back how Murphy felt? He knew this wasn’t the end of it. They would be talking about this once they were on the road. It was too big to not talk about, and Murphy had to know where they stood.

“Next time…next time we should probably be naked.” Connor panted.

Murphy glanced at his brother and smiled wide and radiant at him.

 _Next time._

He loved the sound of that. He loved the sound of Connor’s voice too, though he wasn’t really listening to a word of it. Something about Da and a few days. Yeah, they’d have to be careful around Da. Very careful, but fuck it, he could do careful. Do anything for Connor.

 _Always Connor._

* * *

Connor stared at the ceiling, seeing much more above him than paint and plaster. The confusion as to how things had turned out would still take some time to sort out, but whatever had happened he was thankful.

Couldn’t believe it, couldn’t fucking believe it. He had his brother in his arms, sweaty and sexed out, relaxed and languorous against him. They would have to get up soon, the cooling come in their jeans was uncomfortable, and they had to get on the road soon. There was a long talk ahead, so much to be worked out and said between them. He had to know how long, how long had his brother been keeping this from him? How long had they both been wanting the same thing? He sighed and curled a hand in Murphy’s hair, where he rested against Connor’s shoulder. This was nice. This was perfect.

“Christ, I just fuckin’ showered too,” muttered Murphy.

Connor was tired, but not tired enough to cuff Murphy upside the back of the head.

He smiled.

* * *

From across the street, a priest stood watching. Unseen by human eyes, he watched as they packed their car and the lighter of the two ran a hand through his brother’s hair. They were a unit again, a stronger force, with a devotion so fierce he could see the true beauty in God’s creation.

 _MacManus._

They were soldiers of God. Like the Winchesters.

Chosen and ordained to follow His path and the mission that was set before them. Each family with a different enemy, but protecting the innocent everywhere they went, and with every breath they took nonetheless. The difference between them was that the MacManus brothers actively listened. They _heard_ , whereas the Winchesters ignored.

But soon, that would all change.

He watched another motel door open, and a figure stop at the threshold.

 _Samuel_. Such an arduous path this one would walk.

The younger Winchester prayed for salvation everyday from what was inside him, but it wasn’t God who would decide his fate. It was the choices he made with God’s gift. The choices put forth of free-will. Sam believed, and even when his faith was shaken there was a part of it that still lived within him.

But a war was coming, and there was no time left for non-belief, a lack of faith, especially not from them. The MacManus brothers were strong, solidified, united. The time would come and they would know what they were to do. It was now the Winchesters who had to find their way back to each other, and back to their Heavenly Father. Sam was a wild card, but he had faith. What was coming tomorrow was reserved for his brother.

It was Dean Winchester who would believe again.

Brothers-in-arms, brothers-in-combat, two pairs of equally important young men; one for the natural world, and one to watch the supernatural domain. Each pair so close, too close, close enough to make them doubt and waste precious time, agonizing over the teachings of their faith and damning themselves for how they felt.

The Bible _was_ God’s word, but it was flawed. Written by imperfect human hands.

There was the tendency to overlook that Sarah was Abraham’s sister, to look instead to the laws of Leviticus for guidance. For good reason it never was written that it was only God’s anointed, His chosen, who were given a bond so close, those who could handle it without harm. For the rest of humanity it was a path to damnation to lay with kin so close.

He watched Sam watch the MacManus’ depart, and he himself oversaw Sam’s exit as the Impala growled to life, and took to the highways where it belonged.

His time to watch was at an end.

But his job was not yet finished. There was more to be done, plans to be laid, orders to be followed.

A Winchester to be raised from perdition.

Castiel had work to do.

END.

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